I’m hitting that stage of pregnancy where I’m crying because I don’t have anyone to ask for help. Noah is already doing way more than he can really sustain so I can’t ask for anything else. And I don’t have anyone else I feel comfortable asking for anything.
It isn’t that I need help with anything big at this point. It’s stupid shit. I have a huge pile of stuff on my dresser. It’s not a big deal but I’m feeling very overwhelmed by the cognitive load of sorting it out. This is the kind of thing I go over to peoples houses and do for them. But I’m feeling too stupid to manage it for myself. I need to do some gardening and I just… can’t bring myself to go do it.
The second trimester is unsurprisingly harder than my first. People claim that the second trimester is easier and it might be for them but it sucks for me. I threw up once in the first trimester. I’m up to four pukes (including last night) in the second trimester. Heartburn is going insane. I’m feeling physically really bad.
It was hard having the sleep doctor yesterday lecture me extensively about how I shouldn’t be driving because it isn’t safe. Yeah, I know lady. I have had to pay to rebuild the front of my car. I’m aware. I could kill someone.
She told me to take public transit to my appointments. That would make most of my appointments take 4-5 hours. I’m already seriously struggling to get through all of the stuff I’m supposed to do with the appointments taking 2-3 hours with driving. And Uber would be fucktastically expensive because all of my appointments are 20-40 miles away. Uber says it would have been somewhere between $25-$60 for each way of yesterday’s appointment. I can’t do that 5 days a week. That’s $50-$120/day for getting me to appointments. I’m not that fucking rich.
It’s kind of funny that I feel like a worthless sack of shit who should die because I am not capable of being productive or useful right now but meeting EC’s shrink yesterday was… uhhh… different. Let’s add one more highly trained professional to the list of people telling me that my children are the most emotionally healthy, well supported children they have met and they have basically nothing to offer our family because I’m doing so great.
It’s weird living in my head.
I’m really sad that my neighbor moved to Hawaii. If she were here I would be collapsing on her couch and letting her pet me. She’d be thrilled to do so. It would make her feel good. But she followed her dream to move to Hawaii. I’m glad she is following her dream. We still text a fair bit. She’s having a hard time adjusting and I’m coaxing her through trying out ALL the churches on the island before she declares that she’s just too weird to have a faith community there. She tells me I’m a fantastic motivational speaker.
But I can’t motivate me to think I’m anything other than a selfish piece of shit who should die. I hurt so many people so much. I don’t deserve any help or good feelings from anyone because I am bad.
Except my kids. Apparently those fuckers should feel I’m doing ok by them. Professionals keep telling me so.
I don’t really think they are fuckers. That’s my pathetic attempt at levity this morning.
I don’t feel like I want to kill myself. But I do want to hurt myself a lot for being so bad.
I would really like to crawl into my magical bathtub and fill it to the brim so I can submerge myself and open my arms from wrist to elbow so I can never hurt anyone again.